


Intoxicated

by triforcelegends8



Series: Intoxicated [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Time, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triforcelegends8/pseuds/triforcelegends8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John comes home drunk again, Sherlock does all he can to deter his unwanted advances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intoxicated

It was the fifth time John had come home drunk this week. He stumbled in through the door to the flat smelling of sweat and alcohol, just like the last few times. He fumbled with the door for a bit before finally closing it, a goofy smile spreading across his face when he saw Sherlock. “Afta’noooon.” He said, the alcohol slurring his words. Sherlock only nodded tensely in his direction as a response.

The last time John had come home like this, he had made some rather forceful advances on the detective.

They had been sitting on the couch side by side (Sherlock had wanted to make sure the man didn’t hurt himself in his drunken state) watching some comedy on the telly. John was laughing much too loud at the terrible sitcom for the detective’s liking when he suddenly went silent. Sherlock turned to see if he had finally passed out, but was surprised to see that the man was staring at him. Intensely so.

Sherlock just stared back, not sure whether to speak or turn back and pretend to watch the show more. But he didn’t have to decide because then John moved. He leaned over the dark-haired man, putting his left arm on his side on the couch, his face mere inches away from his. His breathing was heavy and unsteady and his eyes were half-lidded and they were looking up and down Sherlock’s face, mostly focusing on his mouth. In John’s eyes there didn’t seem to be any lust, well not any that the detective could see.

After a few moments of sitting like that, Sherlock decided to say something, “John, what are you-“, but was immediately cut off by the man crashing his lips into Sherlock’s. Both of their eyes were wide open, John’s holding Sherlock’s in hard gaze of lust and possession. The detective chose to close his eyes at that moment, the gaze of the doctor too intense. He could feel the man’s tongue licking his lips and forcing its way into his mouth, mixing his alcohol-infused saliva with his. Sherlock made a muffled sound of disgust and put his hands on John’s chest, trying to push him off.

But trying to push a trained military doctor when he was drunk and wanted something off of his slender frame was useless. It was especially impossible when John grabbed his wrists and pinned them behind his head on the back of the couch. Sherlock whimpered.

“John, s-stop…” He whispered.

John only pressed his mouth on Sherlock’s neck and moaned, “Oh, Sherlock...”

The detective’s mind was racing. Trying to find a way out of this situation without hurting himself or the doctor. But he couldn’t think. Why not? He thought. What’s happening? Think! Just think! It was hopeless, he finally realized. The chemicals being involuntarily released in his body was overriding his ability to use his mind the way he wanted. There was a reason he never partook in sexual or even platonic relations. Chemicals were a defect on the losing side and he could not tolerate being on the losing side.

Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson came upstairs before things had gotten too far. She had come wanting to know if they had any tea they were willing to spare and had mercifully interrupted John’s sexual advances. John had jumped back off of Sherlock and seemed to go a ghostly pale color, the previous red color draining from his face. The woman only giggled and went back downstairs, thinking that Sherlock had been a part of what the man had just done.

But, thankfully, that interruption had deterred the doctor enough to stop for the night. Once Mrs. Hudson was gone, he went upstairs to his bedroom. Sherlock just sat there and stared into space, absolutely stunned by what had just happened. He could almost be traumatized. But Sherlock Holmes didn’t get traumatized. He was Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective. That meant he didn’t have feelings like this, didn’t care for them. And he got over it.

But now, John was looking at him again, standing in front of the door with a smirk on his face. And Sherlock was afraid. He could feel it. His heart was beating faster, his breathing rate increased, his eyes took in more light and details, meaning his pupils were dilated from the fear chemical being released, and, worst of all, he was shaking. It was just slightly, but it was enough for a person to notice. But maybe John wouldn’t since he was drunk anyways. And he was rather dense, for an average person. The detective hoped that his lack of intellect and the added alcohol would be enough to keep him from noticing Sherlock’s fear tells and pouncing on him like a predator does its prey.

Unfortunately, Sherlock’s luck wasn’t so gracious. John tilted his head and started to make his way slowly over to the sleuth, as if stalking prey. Sherlock swallowed and stared at the man, not sure whether to run or to stand his ground and fight against the doctor’s future advances. He was running out of time, he realized. John was almost to the couch and the lust-filled gleam in his eye was growing the closer he got. The dark-haired man began to suddenly panic. He knew if he ran, John could definitely catch him and fighting wouldn’t end up much better.

The only way was to try and talk John out of his stupor and make him realize what he wanted was not for him to take. But talking to a drunk wanting nothing but sex was near impossible, Sherlock thought, remembering last time he had tried to talk the man down. John had finally reached the couch when the detective was jarred from his thoughts. The man was standing next to him, towering over Sherlock, who was sitting low in his seat on the couch, and looked down on his with a smug smile, making the detective shrink even more into his seat.

“Sssherlooock…” John slurred. “You look… tired… c-come to be~ed won’t ya?”

Sherlock shook his head slowly, trying his best to remain seen as being calm. “N-no, John. I am not tired and you know I don’t sleep as often as you.” He swallowed, afraid he had said too much and had given away his façade of a calm exterior.

It didn’t matter either way whether he had deceived John or not on how calm or panicked he was because once Sherlock finished his sentence, John gave a deep frown and grabbed the dark-haired man’s arm. He gripped his arm so tightly Sherlock winced and flinched away from John. But the sandy-haired man just stepped forward forward, following the dark-haired man’s arm with his hands, and straddled his lap, effectively pinning him to the couch.

“John, no. Stop. Stop this, now John.” Sherlock said, almost petrified with dread.

“Shhh… It’s okaaay… It’s fine, you’re fiiiiine.” John replied while lowering his head to Sherlock’s neck. He used one hand to unbutton the top few buttons on the detective’s shirt and buried his face on the curve of his neck. He kissed him lightly, at first, but soon open his mouth wide and sucked and nipped on the sensitive flesh. Without his own accord, Sherlock sighed as gasped at the doctor’s actions, his mouth and tongue sending waves of electric pleasure all through his body.

John kept up his process of licking, sucking, and then biting the red and bruised area on the detective’s neck for while, making him surprisingly hard, when he noticed the dark-haired man’s arousal and started moving his hips back and forth, slowly, on Sherlock’s lap. This only further hardened his erection and let him feel John’s member, not yet hard because of the alcohol dulling his senses and reflexes.

When the doctor tired of biting Sherlock’s neck, he returned to his mouth, more vigorous in his attempts to stick his tongue down the man’s throat. His tongue forced its way into Sherlock’s mouth and danced with his own tongue, mixing the saliva and alcohol together in their mouths. John, finally noticing the detective’s hardness, leaned back and stared blatantly at Sherlock’s crotch, smiling at the bulge in his pants. Boldly, he took the hand that was keeping the man’s arm at bay and placed it on the lump that was Sherlock’s erection and pressed down. Sherlock moaned and, without his own authorization, slightly bucked his hips up to meet the pressure of John’s hand. John took this as a sign to keep pressing on the dark-haired man’s member and started to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt.

When the shirt was completely unbuttoned, John spread his other hand over Sherlock’s chest, rubbing at his nipples. Sherlock’s hands however, were grasping John’s shirt at his back, trying to resist all urges to compel the man to go further. Sherlock shut his eyes and tried his best to focus on what he could do to get out of this situation. With ideas failing him, he moved his hands from the shorter man’s back and laid them on his chest, pushing gently against him. This was no use as John pressed himself against Sherlock, rubbing their bodies together.

“J-John…” Sherlock whispered. “Please… ah… stop this…. Please….” He begged, trying his best to sound scared and pitiful. It wasn’t too hard to sound that way.

John only mumbled a ‘Uh-uh’ under his breath and began to undo his own shirt, taking his hands off of Sherlock for a moment. The detective took this time to think of a plan once again and coming up with nothing. He couldn’t get up, much less run from the man. He couldn’t talk him down. He couldn’t force the man off, and definitely not fight him off. It seemed hopeless. Utterly hopeless.

Sherlock whimpered when John finally got both of their shirts off and went to Sherlock’s trousers, laying his fingers on the button and zipper. Clumsily, he undid the button and zipper on the detective’s pants and sho0t his hand down between Sherlock’s legs, gripping his member through the thin layer of his boxers.

“Get up and get in the bedroom.” John ordered, sounding rather sober for a drunken man crazed with lust. Sherlock shook his head vigorously. The doctor tilted his head a little to the side and reached behind him. When his hand reappeared in front of the two, John was holding an army knife. Sherlock didn’t even know he’d had one. He must have kept it well hidden from the detective for him to miss it. Now he definitely couldn’t miss it, as it was lightly pressed against his throat.

“I said… get up and go to the bedroom.” When Sherlock just stared in shocked silence John said more sternly, “Now.”

Sherlock moved, letting John know he was doing what he was told, and made his way to the door to John’s bedroom with shaky legs.

“No, Sherlock. Your bedroom.” John chuckled with a smirk. Sherlock swallowed and walked slowly over to his bedroom door. He opened the door with shaking and sweaty hands, struggling to keep his emotions at bay. The dark-haired man wrapped his arms around himself, not because he was cold, but because he felt thoroughly violated, and looked at the bed in his room. It was clean and made up, like it should be, and there were clothes and books scattered around it. It was one of the most normal things about the man- his bedroom. There were no ‘disgusting’ experiments in here. No disembodied heads. No police reports or evidence from crime scenes. It was just a normal room containing his books on things that interested him.

And now John was going to take him in it.

Sherlock gulped and tore his gaze away from the bed to see John standing in the doorway with a bottle of something- lubrication, most likely- in his hand. He was still shirtless, but now he had his trousers off and Sherlock could clearly see his erection through his pants. He saw the doctor gesture to the bed, letting him know to get on it and lay down. The detective unfolded his arms from around him and crawled into the bed cautiously, as if it held some kind of explosive under the sheets. Getting under the covers, Sherlock looked back again at John, who was getting under with him.

The shorter man set the lube on the bedside table next to the bed and turned his full attention to Sherlock. He still had the knife. That meant the detective could do nothing but endure what was inevitable. And in his bedroom with the door closed, they wouldn’t be interrupted again. John started off again with kissing the dark-haired man on the mouth roughly. He used the hand that wasn’t holding the knife to grab Sherlock through his pants and press and squeeze him until he could feel precome wetting his boxers. That was when John sat up on his knees from laying on his side and pulled down Sherlock’s pants, his hard member spring free. John smiled and licked his lips.

“Oh, Sherlock, you’re beautiful…” he said, while stroking the man’s erection. Sherlock whimpered and writhed under John’s touch. Aside from the day before, he had never experienced anything remotely like this. He got and erection every now and then, but he ignored it until it went away. And, of course, no one ever wanted him. He was possibly the worst person alive. Who could want him?

John apparently did, known by the way he was touching him and himself. He grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pressed it to his crotch, still clothed by the boxers. When the detective’s hand met John’s rock hard member, he gasped and closed his eyes. Maybe if he ignored it, this would all go away. Maybe it was just a dream. When he reopened his eyes, John was still there and their hands were still on each other’s erections. The dark-haired man gave a whimper and a half sob and the realization that this was real. Although he didn’t know why he was so afraid. It was just sex. Everyone did it and if he had to choose anyone in the world to have sex with him, it would be John. But why in the hell was he so alarmed now?

He had no time to search for and answer because John was taking his own pants off now. His member sprang free from the restricting material and Sherlock stared. How could he not? John was wide and an average size- two inches thick and five inches long- making Sherlock gulp again. He was afraid because he thought it would hurt and that this would change him. He already knew it was hard to think when all the blood went straight to his cock. God knows what would happen to his mind if he went any further.

John stopped fondling Sherlock long enough to grab the lube and squirt some onto his dick, stroking it slowly to spread the liquid around. Sherlock just stared in frightened silence and watched the man crawl over him and lift his legs up. The dark-haired man began to truly panic.

“J-John. Please, s-stop. I-I… I don’t want this. Please stop.” He begged, whimpering when John just shook his head and leaned forward. Sherlock could feel the tip of the man’s cock at his entrance. All he had to do was push his hip forward and he would be buried inside the detective’s arse. He whispered, once again asking him to stop, “Please….” John only looked at Sherlock, holding fast his gaze, and pushed in.

Sherlock yelled out in a confusion of pain and pleasure as John’s cock slid deep inside his arse. John moaned loudly and swore, mumbling, “Ah, god, Sherlock… fuck, you’re… tight…” They stayed still, with John buried far inside Sherlock, while Sherlock clenched involuntarily and felt the man’s cock throbbing hard. Then John started to move back out. He moved slowly, the flesh of his hard member dragging against the inside flesh of Sherlock’s tight heat. The dark-haired man’s mouth was open in shocked pleasure at the intrusion and he was finding it very hard to breathe.

When John was almost out, he stopped. He suddenly pushed back in, fast this time and hitting the bundle of nerves inside Sherlock, making him arch his back and yell out in pleasure. The sandy-haired man took this as encouragement and pulled back out and pushed back in again, faster this time. When Sherlock only moaned again and clenched around the man’s throbbing member he began thrusting into the man, hard and fast. He hit the spot each time that made Sherlock see stars and feel numb, but alive all over.

Sherlock could feel John rubbing him raw inside and could feel an intense pressure building in his cock. A few more seconds of this and he was done. And there was no stopping John now. It seemed that the doctor was reaching his end as well, as he was thrusting faster, pounding hard into the detective. Sherlock, not able to take anymore, was thrown over the edge, his cum shooting from the tip of his quivering member landing on his chest and stomach. When he came he clenched down on John hard enough to make him climax as well. John came hard and fast inside the detective, filling him with his seed, making an unseen mark that the man was his. Sherlock yelled when he felt the warm liquid fill him, making him grab himself and finish his own climax.

When they both finished, they were panting hard and John was still inside Sherlock, throbbing slightly. The doctor had collapsed onto the detective and they could feel each other’s chest heaving, gasping for air. Now, he lifted himself up with weak arms and looked at Sherlock with a smug look on his face.

“That… was-“ Sherlock cut him off,

“Don’t. Just get…out… of me and leave the room.”

John gave Sherlock a confused look before shrugging and abruptly pulling out of the man, making him gasp in slight pain. He grabbed his boxers, the only article of clothing he had worn into the room, and left with them in his hand long with the knife and lubricant. When he was gone and the door was shut, Sherlock sighed, laid down on his back, and stared at the ceiling. He had an unexpected sob escape his throat and he immediately covered his mouth, hoping John hadn’t heard him. Thankfully, no one came back to the door and he turned on his stomach and sobbed into the pillow for a few minutes, letting all of his confusing emotions out before cleaning up the bed and laying back down in a clean pair of pants. Feeling utterly spent, he almost immediately went to sleep. He sincerely hope all of that was just a terrible nightmare. He would find out when he woke up in the morning for sure. If it wasn’t a nightmare, John had hell to pay.

**Author's Note:**

> First time at a porn Johnlock, hope you liked it!


End file.
